


And no matter where we are, we will never be that far

by Resamille



Series: This time belongs to you [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance looks good in blue, Lingerie Kink, M/M, Mirror Sex, Pass it on, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, slight? praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10021823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: College is hard enough without having a huge crush on your summer research project roomate.Also, Pidge is a jerk.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For my discord waifu, HikariMitsuko. I was your nsfw valentine, babe, so here you go and happy late valentine's day<3  
> Title from I'll Think of You by Sam Tsui/KHS and all that.

Lance's luggage hits the ground with a _thud_.

“Oh, _fuck no_.”

 

Pidge kicks the back of Lance's seat for approximately the fifth time. Not that he's counting. No, Lance is too busy dealing with the fact he's going to spend the entirety of summer in close proximity to Keith. Keith, the boy who whooped Lance's ass at that makeshift physics gameshow last semester right before finals. Keith, the pretty boy who Lance has caught himself watching intently as he bends to line up a shot in a game of pool at the local hotspot pub for engineering students, pointedly telling himself he stares because he wants to whoop Keith's ass in retaliation, not _wreck_ it. Keith, the boy who Lance may or may not have accidentally serenaded two nights ago on a dare from Pidge ( _random-number-generator, sing at the door of that apartment_ ). Keith who looked absolutely gorgeous in his dumbfounded confusion at finding Lance belting _Complicated_ by Avril Lavigne at his doorway while Lance made at absolute fool of himself.

The same Keith, who Lance also may or may not have the most major crush on.

“Laaance,” Pidge singsongs, trying to shove their face in the tiny space between the airline seats. They weasel their hand in the space and prod at Hunk's arm until he stops dozing next to Lance.

“Huh? What?”

“Hunk, tell Lance to stop moping. I'm bored and I need him to talk to me so I can tease him about his crush.”

“I don't like him,” Lance growls, crossing his arms petulantly and sinking lower into the seat.

Hunk glances at him. “How long was I out? Forty minutes?”

“Like two hours,” Pidge answers.

Hunk lets out a low whistle. “Boy's got it bad if he's still grumpy.”

“Shut up,” Lance snarls.

“He didn't deny it,” Pidge quips, reaching their entire arm through the gap to ruffle at Lance's hair. He lets out a yelp of protest and jumps in his seat, pressing against the frame of the airplane and knocking his head against the window in attempt to get away from Pidge's little demon stubs they call fingers.

“Weren't you just talking to someone _not me_ ,” Lance huffs at Pidge while Hunk wraps an arm around him and tugs him into his side in a half-hearted hug of comfort. He's pretty sure he heard Pidge chatting with whoever was sitting next to them earlier.

“Jadon? Yeah, he fell asleep. As much as I love his thoughts on Pokemon, he just doesn't live up to the dramatic bullshit you get yourself into. No one can compare to the soap opera of your life, Lance, so spill.”

“I love soap operas,” says a cheery voice from the other side of Hunk. Lance is currently squished against Hunk's shoulder, so he can't really see who's speaking. “Oh, sorry—sorry, but this flight is dreadfully boring. I would love to hear some stories if you kids have any.”

“I'm Pidge,” pipes up the little gremlin. “Computer science and electrical engineering double major. We're all on a research trip to Spain for the summer. I'll fight anyone who calls me short.”

“You're tiny,” snarks Lance, and the comment earns him a sharp tug on his ear from a hand reaching between the seats. “Owowoww! Stop that!”

“I'm Hunk. Mechincal engineering. This one's Lance.” Hunk uses the arm still wrapped around Lance to jostle him in his seat, and Lance makes a grumbling noise in response. Hunk continues explaining to the stranger: “He's upset because the boy he likes is coming on the trip with us.”

“I don't like him!” Lance yelps, probably a little louder than socially acceptable.

“Oh my,” says the woman. “That is a predicament—my name is Clara, by the way, nice to meet you all—but wouldn't being on the trip together be a good chance to get to know him?”

“Oh, sure,” says Pidge nonchalantly. “But Lance is—”

“Lance is _right here_ ,” says the boy in question, flailing his arms around slightly. He lowers his voice to hissed whisper when he continues: “And Lance is _not_ interested in Keith!”

“Right, Bro,” Hunk starts. “I totally believe you.”

“Oh, his name is Keith?” Clara adds in.

“It is,” confirms Pidge. “He's sitting about three rows back on the other side of the plane.”

“Four,” Lance corrects.

Hunk raises an eyebrow out him.

“That's rather telling,” Clara comments.

“Leave me alone,” Lance pouts.

“Absolutely never,” Pidge beams back.

“Where's Shiro or Allura? Can I go sit with one of them? They don't shame me like this.” Lance stretches out of Hunk's grasp to peer over the rows of airline seats, searching for Allura's silver-blonde or Shiro's tell-tale white tuft of hair.

“That's because Shiro and Allura are too busy dodging their own feelings to notice your very obvious ones,” Pidge sighs. “They're hopeless.”

“So is Keith,” Hunk adds, talking more to Clara at this point than to Lance or Pidge. “Lance _is_ very obvious, and somehow Keith hasn't noticed.”

“Or he has and he _doesn't like me_.” Lance crosses his arms over his chest.

“I couldn't possibly guess _why_ ,” Pidge says sarcastically, overly dramatic for effect. “Lance is the _opposite_ of insufferable, _not at all_ a drama queen, and absolutely likeable at _all times_.”

“Well I think you're a very nice boy, Lance,” says Clara, “And you should go tell Keith how you feel.”

Lance cross his arms and lets out a huff.

 

“Lance,” Pidge orders, plopping down hard into the wooden chair so aggressively that it scoots against the floor with a high-pitched creak. “Buy me a drink. Two—nonono _three—_ shots.” They jerk a thumb over their shoulder, gesturing across the room where Shiro, Allura, and Matt are sharing a booth. “I'm tired of watching the Pining Trio.” The emphasis they put on the last two words make the capitals audible.

“What the hell, Pidge,” Lance deadpans, sloshing back the last of his beer and leaning on the back legs of his chair until the backrest bumps against the wall, keeping him from falling. “We're in Madrid, why can't you buy it yourself?”

“Because according to Matt I'm still a fetus, and he won't let me buy alcohol as long as Shiro's around. Keith, tell your brother to stop blue-balling my liquor privileges.”

Keith snorts and downs the rest of whatever was in his glass. He's probably drowning his sorrows in alcohol after finding out he and Lance are sharing an apartment for the summer. Lance pulls his gaze off of the pink of Keith's lips to glare at Pidge. He ignores the stutter of his heartbeat in his chest.

 

“Oh,” Lance hums half-heartedly, breaking away from the group to get a closer look at what's in the glass window of the boutique.

“Oh my God,” Keith groans.

“Shut up,” Lance snaps, but it's not nearly as mean as it usually is when he's this buzzed. “These are pretty, and pastel looks good with my skin tone. Contrast, y'know?”

Lance looks over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at Keith. They lock eyes for a second—where Keith stares back with wide, awed, violet. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, but before Lance can get caught in watching in the movement, Hunk is behind him, hand on his shoulder, and looking up into the display.

“You're right,” Hunk says, turning an appraising eye from Lance to the mannequin models and then back. “You would look nice in these.”

Lance ducks his head, shy from the validation, but Hunk laughs and pulls him into a side-hug, and then Lance is laughing too.

 

Keith flops listlessly onto the couch, and, thus, onto Lance, where he'd done the same thing about thirty seconds earlier.

“Fuuuck,” Lance groans, the air stolen from him by the sudden weight of _Keith_ on his chest.

“You're bony,” Keith mumbles, lifting his head to look at Lance, chin digging into his collarbone.

“Then get off,” Lance wheezes, though he puts zero effort in his attempts to shove Keith away. “You have a room.”

Keith ducks his head, settles himself more comfortably on Lance. “Huh. You're warm though,” he mutters, and promptly falls asleep.

Lance savors the warm. He savors the soft of Keith's hair tickling his neck, the weight of each breath, the tick of his heartbeat pressed against Lance's body. He wonders if this is what it would be like to be in love with Keith: to have and to hold him and to see him in the most vulnerable of moments.

Keith stirs, and Lance wrenches his hand back from where he'd been smoothing over Keith's hair, carding his fingers through it—when had he started doing that?—but doesn't wake. Instead, he lets out the softest of snores, and Lance has to bite his knuckle to keep from giggling.

 

Lance doesn't look up from where he's buried under research data on the couch when Keith comes back from a lab session with Shiro. Something thuds against the coffee table, shuffling Lance's papers across the surface.

“Hey—” Lance starts, brow cinched as he peers up at Keith.

“Package for you, apparently,” Keith hums nonchalantly, and stretches as he pads towards his room. Lance tells himself he's definitely not watching the pull of his muscles working in his arms as Keith reaches over his head with a dramatic yawn.

Dragging his gaze away from Keith, Lance inspects the box. The labeling is all in Spanish, so it's probably from somewhere around here, but Lance hasn't ordered anything and who does he know in Spain that would send him something?

Snagging Keith's keys from where he dropped them on the coffee table, Lance rips through the tape. Lance pries open the cardboard flaps, yanking on the box when he hits a spot he missed in the tape.

“Hey—did I leave my... Oh my god,” Keith leans forward over the back of the couch to get a better look at the contents of the package.

“Okay—look—I c-can explain,” Lance manages.

“Dude, you were fawning over those the other night, why would I be weirded out _now_?” Keith walks around the couch, grabs his keys off the table, frowning as he flicks a stray piece of tape off.

“I—Okay, let me be entirely straight with you—” Keith snorts, and Lance pins him with an unamused expression. “We're supposed to live together for the entirety of summer, so... I'm Latino, bisexual, and may or may not have a lingerie kink—”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Fine, I _do_ have a lingerie kink—”

“On you or other people?”

“Both? Will you stop interrupting?”

“Okay,” Keith hums, and Lance can see a smile playing on his lips that speaks devilish tones.

“Where was I?” Lance huffs. “Great, now I don't remember what I was going to say.”

“Lingerie kink,” Keith reminds him patiently.

“Right. Right. This is a weird conversation. Definitely weird. Your straight ass looks far too interested in my kinks for me to not be freaked out.”

Keith blinks at him. “Lance, I'm gay.”

“What.”

“You didn't know?”

“I mean I would have guessed from the mullet—but how come you always looked so freaked when I flirted with you like freshman year?”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at him. “The first time you talked to me you were drunk as fuck and—you kissed me and then went straight to flirting with some other guy, annnnnd, you don't remember any of that, do you?”

It takes Lance a moment to process. Longer than a moment. Keith looks at him expectantly, waiting for the crash-and-burn.

“I kissed you? I _kissed you and I don't remember it_?”

“You and alcohol is a dangerous combination,” Keith comments.

“You cuddled me last time you got drunk! This isn't fair!”

Keith shrugs, unapologetic. “So why are these here?” he says, gesturing at the open box. “I presume you didn't order them, judging your reaction.”

“Stop judging my anything,” Lance quips, but then takes a second look at the box because he has to admit that Keith's question is a reasonable one. Ah, there—in between delicately wrapped fabric: a note. Lance plucks it from its resting place and scans it. Simple, sweet, a handwriting he knows far too well from late-night study sessions. “Pidge, you fucker,” he growls.

Keith laughs.

Suddenly the whole situation isn't quite as terrible.

But then, a contemplative hum: “Put them on.”

It sounds like an offer.

“What the fuck?” Lance squawks, and feels himself flush. “Keith, I—”

“I like you, okay?”

Lance clamps his mouth shut instantly, jaw clicking together painfully.

Keith watches his reaction, and Lance is in such a state of shock he's having a hard time processing anything. “I—”

“Did you think I didn't notice?” Keith asks. “The way you watch me? You can't look away.” Lance's mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, and he stares at Keith, proving him entirely correct. He's still trying to recover, but the sway of Keith's hips as he moves around the coffee table to stand in front of Lance is tantalizingly distracting.

“Also,” Keith hums, leaning down. “I ran into this lady named Clara the other day when I was out with Pidge? It was a pretty surreal experience.”

That finally stutters Lance into action. “Oh, fuck me!” he grumbles. Never again! Never make friends with people on airplanes; they betray you at the drop of a hat.

“I mean I would,” Keith is saying, interrupting Lance's internal dialogue. “But I really would like a show first.” He gestures at the box behind him. “You were right, you know. I bet you do look good in pastel. Blue is your color.”

Lance swallows hard, and then Keith is leaning down, planting a knee between Lance's legs on the couch to support him. “Lance?” he breathes out. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

This is game-changing. There's no going back. Hell, they've already plunged off some sort of ledge now that their confessions are out in the open—not that Lance technically confessed and damn you chatty plane friends. But there's another canyon looming out before them, and Lance sees uncertainty flash in Keith's violet eyes.

Deep breath.

Lance jumps.

“Keith,” he whispers, and then he's tugging Keith down by the collar of his shirt, and their lips crash together.

Keith lets out a muffled noise, and then is kissing Lance back, the movement of his lips warm against Lance's. Lance wraps his arms around Keith's waist, and then pulls Keith closer, until he's entirely settled in Lance's lap, straddling his thigh. Keith tilts his head, pressing their chests together. His hands are threaded through Lance's hair, tugging just barely, or roving over his shoulders, scratching lightly over his shirt.

Lance isn't sure what to do with his hands—his arms are busy wrapped around Keith, anyway—but he shifts his thigh upwards. His intent was to push Keith closer, but the actual result is Keith tears away from the kiss with a breathy groan, and rocks down on Lance's thigh again. “Please,” Keith manages, voice an uttered prayer.

He ducks back down, burying his head in the crook of Lance's neck and pressing sloppy kisses to the exposed skin above the collar of his t-shirt. Lance gasps, and then hums approval. He lets his hands slide lower from where they were resting over Keith's back, until he's palming Keith's ass, helping him grind against Lance's thigh.

Soft under his fingers.

The heat of Keith against him.

Keith lets out the softest of gasps, and then bites down hard on Lance's neck. Lance stutters out a breath or a moan or—he doesn't know, but Keith practically growls in response before moving up to capture Lance's lips again, tugging the bottom between his teeth gently. Lance laps at Keith's lips, and Keith parts them eagerly. Then they're taking impatient turns licking into each others' mouths, mapping and memorizing, breathing the other in.

Lance moves one arm back around Keith's waist, and then flips them sideways. The kiss is broken as Keith falls on his back on the couch, with Lance on top of him, both panting. Lance rolls his hips down, and then they both have to take a moment to breathe because _fuck that felt good_.

But if Lance doesn't step away now, then he doesn't think he ever will, and Keith asked for a _show_. So dammit if this boy isn't going to get exactly what he wants. Lance intends to wreck him with it, if at all possible.

Though, judging by Keith's half-lidded gaze, the way his chest heaves air through kiss-swollen parted lips, the fact he's gone utterly pliant under Lance, there might not be much more wrecked Keith can get.

“Stay here,” Lance orders, and Keith nods absently.

Lance gets up, and he watches as Keith's eyes widen as he snags the box off the coffee table.

“Oh my God,” Keith breathes, and Lance disappears into his room.

 

Lance hovers in front of the mirror hanging off the back of his bedroom door. Tanned skin, set off by pale dusty blue, stares back at him: too much, too much. Sure, he's never cared about revealing his legs or chest before, but this... The situation is for one, very different, and, turning around to peer over his shoulder, yup, the lacy babydoll doesn't reach far enough to cover his butt.

It's tied around his neck with a satin ribbon, pressing just barely enough that he feels the fabric strain with every swallow. The ribbon halter crosses itself just under the hollow of his throat before attaching to the lace over his chest. From there, the fabric turns sheer, swooping down to either hip but leaving his navel bare.

It's a little short, but Lance has to admit Pidge got his size down. Damn his long torso not fitting into nice lingerie the way its supposed to.

But Lance has more concerning issues at hand. Ignoring the half of one in his underwear—a matching baby blue, with elegant filigree lace tied with darker blue ribbons over his hips to keep the panties in place—Keith is outside, waiting.

There's a hesitant knock on the door, which startles Lance into nearly having a heart attack as he jumps away from the mirror. Shit, shit—Keith's had time to think about this and now he regrets it and wants to call it all off before—

“Lance?” Keith says, from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

His voice is laced with concern: genuine, absolute concern. Lance's heart clenches. He's been so dumb, so blind, to not see how much Keith _cares_. The soft expressions, softer touches, the stutter in his voice when they first met freshman year, and the same stutter when they found out they were rooming together for the summer.

“Sorry if I'm bothering you, I just...” Keith trails off.

Lance takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The lip that Keith had been worrying between his teeth drops in surprise as soon as he runs his gaze over Lance.

“S-so...” Lance manages, and he sees Keith's eyes dart up to meet his from where they were roaming. “What do you think?”

Lance musters up the courage to spin on his toes, arms in the air, to show off the ribbons on his hips, the skin of his waist, and half-way through the turn, he hears a choked noise from behind him. And, fuck—he forgot that there was practically nothing covering his ass.

Before Lance finishes the twirl, there are arms snaking around his waist, locking him in place. Lips press against his exposed shoulder, and Lance breathes out a gentle sigh.

“I don't know—” Keith interrupts himself by biting sharply on Lance's shoulder. Lance yelps, and then Keith's tongue is soothing over the mark, wet and warm. “How you ever thought I was straight—” he continues, hands sliding to Lance's hips and tugging him down to grind on Keith's erection. “When I'm this fucking hard looking at you.”

“Hah,” Lance gasps out, taking up a gentle undulation of his hips on his own accord, pressing back against Keith. “I-I'll take it you like it then?” Keith's breath hitches harshly behind him.

“Is that even a question?” Keith growls, and, with a strong push on Lance's hips, turns Lance around in his arms. “You're fucking gorgeous.” Keith sets it upon himself to leave none of Lance's skin unmarked, latching his mouth onto his collarbone and working on the skin until its bruising under his lips.

“R-really?” Lance breathes out, breath catching halfway through the word as Keith bites gently at his shoulder, then kisses a line parallel to the ribbon across Lance's chest.

“You—” Kiss. “Want me—” Kiss. “To prove it?” Kiss.

Lance nods out a reply, because he's not sure he trusts his voice anymore, not with the way Keith is peppering attention all over his exposed skin and leaving him warm and sensitive. Keith pulls back, meets his gaze. Violet eyes are almost black with the way Keith's pupils are blown wide. He grins, the devil himself, and steps back to pull the door closed.

Lance is presented with a picture of himself as Keith moves out of the way of the mirror: kiss-marked and looking vaguely ravished, still beautiful in the colors of a spring sky. Keith circles behind him, plants his hands on Lance's waist while he rests his chin on Lance's shoulder. “Look at you,” Keith breathes against his ear, and Lance shudders. “You're stunning.”

Lance feels heat rise to his cheeks, sees the blush darken his skin. He meets Keith's eyes in the reflection, swallows as Keith's fingers begin roaming, splaying across Lance's stomach. One trails upward, skimming over Lance's chest under the fabric of the babydoll, while the other dances over the ribbons holding the panties together. Lance tenses for a moment in anticipation, but then Keith keeps going until his hand is gripping on Lance's thigh, tracing absent circles, scratching lightly.

Keith presses a kiss to his shoulder again. “You're beautiful Lance. I thought that from the moment I saw you, the first time I heard you laugh... Do you know how hard it was to concentrate in that intro class knowing you were right behind me?” The pad of Keith's thumb strokes over Lance's nipple, and he sucks in a sharp breath, leaning back against Keith for support.

“You were gorgeous freshman year, in class or drunk as fuck and kissing me at a party, even if I was super pissed you moved on like nothing.”

“I—” Lance starts, but Keith rolls his nipple in between his fingers, and Lance groans softly, instantly forgetting whatever protest was on his tongue.

“You were gorgeous singing Avril Lavigne on my doorstep, almost passed out. You really need to get your shit together when you drink. And you were gorgeous stepping off the plane into the Madrid sun, and you're gorgeous now, in my arms, about to get your ass wrecked.”

Heat pulses through Lance, going straight to his crotch, and his dick twitches under the fabric. The motion doesn't go unnoticed by Keith, who smirks in response, and brushes over Lance's nipple relentlessly while his other hand finally snakes towards Lance's dick.

Keith brushes his palm over the wet spot on the lacy fabric, and presses down further. Lance shudders, unintentionally bucking into Keith's hand while simultaneously feeling his legs nearly give out underneath him. Keith uses the hand on his chest to pull Lance towards him and hold him steady. “Bed?” he offers.

Lance nods, biting his lip to keep from saying anything because if he does, he has half a mind that he'll just resort to begging. They half-stumble to the bed, as Keith draws Lance backwards, and then they fall sideways. Lance has barely hit the mattress when Keith's on top of him, straddling Lance's hips and pressing kisses to his jawline.

Keith sucks a mark, dark and obvious, into Lance's neck—and dammit, he'll never hear the end of this from Pidge.

“Not—fair,” Lance finally huffs, fingers scrambling at the hem of Keith's shirt.

Keith lets out a long-suffering snort, as if taking his lips off Lance for even a moment is some great torture, but he leans back and pulls off his shirt. He bites his lip, gaze lingering over Lance, and then seems to realize something. “Do you have—”

“Top drawer, behind you,” Lance says, and Keith's gone suddenly.

Lance leans up on his elbows to watch Keith shimmy out of his jeans, and allows himself a moment of blatantly staring at Keith's ass as he rifles through the draw until he finds what he's looking for.

“Is this... Is this flavored lube?” Keith asks incredulously, and Lance drags his gaze away from Keith's butt to meet a disgruntled expression.

Lance shrugs. “It came free with an order once? It's all I had on me when I was packing.”

“You're impossible,” Keith says, but chucks the bottle onto the bed, and a condom shortly follows.

“I thought you said I was gorgeous,” Lance quips as Keith climbs back on top of him.

“You are,” Keith hums, stopping at Lance's stomach and planting kisses on the skin not covered by sheer fabric. “So pretty.”

“Keeeith,” Lance whines, dropping back and threading his hands through Keith's hair. Holy fuck, that's soft. He tugs, just barely, to get Keith's attention. “Just fuck me already.”

Keith grins, and nips at Lance's waist. He tugs at the ribbons with his teeth, pulling at the bows until they fall away, and Lance's cock springs free as soon as the fabric allows. Keith brushes the panties away, lapping and nipping at Lance's thighs.

“ _Keeeith_ ,” Lance whines again, more desperate because Keith _still_ hasn't reached for the lube, but then there's something warm pressing against Lance's hole, and he gasps, clawing at the bedsheets, as Keith gently presses his tongue in. “Oh, oh fuck—oh my God,” Lance whimpers. “Fuck, Keith, _please_.”

Keith starts to work his tongue in and out of Lance, drawing shuddering gasps and moans from the other. Lance feels Keith's grip shift on his hips, but somehow he misses when Keith manages to get the bottle of lube open and spread on his fingers, because the second Keith pulls away, he's pressing a finger into Lance.

Lance arches into Keith's touch, trying to bear down on his hand. “More,” he pleads, before he can stop himself, and when he manages to pull himself together enough to glance at Keith, he's grinning like the Cheshire cat. Lance can only focus on violet eyes for a heartbeat before Keith curls his finger, searching only a second for the spot that has Lance crying out and seeing stars.

Somewhere between the rock of Lance's hips onto Keith's hand, and the gentle massage against Lance's prostate, Keith added another finger, and Lance is helpless to his touch. Keith leans forward as he scissors Lance open to press kisses along his waist, tickling just under his ribs where the fabric has ridden up to reveal more skin.

But then Keith's fingers are gone, and the heat of his body vanishes, and Lance whimpers, high-pitched and wanting. “K-Keith—” he starts.

“Finish getting ready,” Keith says, tossing the bottle of lube near Lance's shoulder.

Lance slowly obeys, trying to get his limbs to respond to the commands his hazy mind is attempting to order. He reaches blindly for the lube as Keith takes off his boxers, grabs the condom, and starts rolling it on. He watches, biting his lip, as Lance leans up and sinks three fingers inside of himself, moaning at the stretch and the feeling of being full again.

Lance grinds down on his hand, chasing his own pleasure, but it's not as good as when Keith was inside him. The angle is too awkward, and while Lance isn't inexperienced in getting himself off, he's not as experienced in drowning himself in absolute ecstasy, which, judging by the way Keith is looking at him, is hopefully what he's about to get.

Keith settles down on the edge of the bed, sitting with one knee propped on the bed while he stares at Lance. “You're so beautiful,” Keith hums appreciatively, sounding a little awed. “When you're ready, c'mere.”

Lance immediately pulls his hand away, whining slightly, and somehow manages to crawl over to Keith despite the fact his limbs feel like jelly. “Lap, come 'ere,” Keith says, and Lance half-falls off of the bed onto shaky feet. He climbs over Keith, knees planted on the bed, and Keith's arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Keith tucks his chin into Lance's neck, licking a long stripe along his collarbone, and Lance shivers. “Look at yourself,” he breathes, air a warm puff on Lance's sweaty skin.

It's then that Lance realizes Keith sat exactly here for a reason. Over Keith's shoulder, Lance can see the mirror—can see the slope of Keith's back, pale and perfect, and his own disheveled hair, the desperate part of his lips, the glaze to his blue eyes. The ribbon around his neck hangs a little looser.

“Ready?” Keith asks his shoulder, and Lance manages a nod, reaching down to grasp Keith's dick and align himself over it. Keith lets out the softest of groans, and then Lance is lowering himself down, and Keith bites down on his collarbone.

Lance lets out a low keen, and Keith doesn't bother trying to stop the moan that tears through his throat as Lance finally settles flush against Keith's lap. “Oh, f-fuck,” Keith breathes. “So g-good, Lance, s-so good. Whenever you're—”

But Lance is already shifting up, latching onto Keith's shoulders for leverage. He tries to fall back down slowly, but his thighs are shaking from the effort, and he lands back on Keith's lap harder than he meant to, tearing broken noises of pleasure from both of them. From there, Keith grabs onto Lance's ass, and helps him move.

Lance manages a stuttering pace, interrupted by pants and moans. He claws at Keith's shoulders for purchase, and drops his head into the crook of Keith's neck because it's all so much—the heat and the touches and the kisses Keith is somehow managing to press lazily against Lance's shoulders, nibbling at the ribbon on his neck. And then when Keith finally picks up Lance's rhythm and thrusts up into him, Lance arches his back with a cry.

“Keith—Keith—I can't— _touch me_ ,” he pants, pleading.

“Look—hah—at you,” Keith pants back, and Lance manages to focus on the mirror for a moment.

It's a heartbeat where he sees himself, wrecked and ravished, skin glistening with sweat, kiss-swollen lips hanging open, collarbone peppered with bites and marks. “ _K-Keith._ ”

“I k-know,” Keith stutters out, and somehow—somehow—Keith lifts Lance off him, and Lance whines in protest, until Keith switches their position, leaning Lance over the side of the bed. “Watch,” he growls as he plunges back into Lance.

Lance keens, the sound ripping through his entire body as he trembles from sensation. As Keith thrusts into him, his own dick grinds against the bed, and Lance is clawing at the sheets, scrambling to hold onto something because he definitely isn't clinging to his self-control anymore. Keith leans down and nips at Lance's shoulder, then brushes butterfly kisses over his back, and his pace changes to short and quick, shifting the bed with the force he puts behind the movement.

Lance whimpers at his reflection: eyes watering, little gasps falling from his lips every time Keith slams into him, and then he meets Keith's gaze, lidded and unfocused and filled with absolute desire. He feels adored, caught in Keith's eyes and watching his own body accept the affection. Keith leans back a little, and runs his hands down Lance's back soothingly, and Lance arches into the touch, then moans as Keith grabs his hips and pulls as he thrusts forward.

Suddenly Lance's ass is being half-lifted, and even though he's not able to rut against the bed anymore, the second Keith slams into him and brushes hard against his prostate, Lance is gone, choking on the half-sob, half-moan that wrenches from him. Behind him, Keith stutters out a broken curse when Lance clamps down on him, and with another harsh tug on Lance's hips, Keith is lost to his own orgasm.

Even as he's riding the waves of pleasure coursing over his nerves, Lance manages to look up in the mirror to watch Keith: brow furrowed in concentration even though his stare is still hazy. He's biting his lip, tearing it between his teeth as he gives a few final thrusts, and then he slumps against Lance's back, breathing hard and warm on Lance's sweat-cooled skin.

They both take a moment to recover—two moments. Then Keith slowly, lethargically, pulls himself out of Lance and goes to throw away the condom. Lance rolls over as Keith returns, wincing when he catches sight of the mess on his stomach and on the bed. Keith laughs softly, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Lance's lips.

“Wow,” Lance breathes, and Keith kisses him again.

“I'll get a towel.”

“Mmpf,” Lance says in response, and grabs Keith's arm before he can escape. Keith isn't expecting it, and he lands half on top of Lance, smearing Lance's cum between the two of them. “Stay here a bit.”

“Oh my God,” Keith huffs. “Not like this. Shower, c'mon.”

“Noooo,” Lance whines, pressing his nose to Keith's hair. “Bath. Definitely bath.”

“Whatever,” Keith grumbles. “ _Clean_. We'll deal with the bed after.”

“I'll just sleep in yours,” Lance mumbles sleepily, allowing Keith to tug him up and gently lead him towards the bathroom.

Keith's footsteps falter for a second. “Really?”

“You can sleep on the couch,” Lance finishes, a tired, cheeky grin on his face when Keith glares at him over his shoulder.

 

Lance sinks further into the water, savoring the warmth as he leans against Keith's chest. Keith is tracing lazy patterns on Lance's waist, and Lance hums an off-key tune of some song.

“Are you singing _Complicated_?” Keith asks, the laughter audible in his voice.

Lance pauses. “I guess I was,” he finally admits, and shrugs, accidentally bumping Keith's chin with his shoulder.

“Ow! Hey!”

“Sorry.”

“No you aren't.”

“Not really,” Lance confesses and turns to look over his shoulder at Keith, smirking.

Keith kisses the expression off his face.

“You wanna get dinner or something tonight?” Lance blurts, as Keith pulls away.

“We're going out with Hunk, remember?”

“Right,” Lance says, and feels his heart sink a little.

“Tomorrow?” Keith offers, and Lance's heart fireworks into the sky.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Lance says. “Some place with candles. Candles are romantic.”

“You're a fucking dork.”

“You snore.”

“What.”

The splash war that ensues leaves the entire bathroom soaked, but Keith's smile makes everything else not matter.

 


End file.
